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(via tmagazine)

"Braid" (2013) by Patricia Voulgaris, part of her "Fragments" series now on view. http://nyti.ms/1rEaMbC

(via snpsnpsnp)

Stephen James and Vanessa Lorenzo, V Magazine

(via calumet412)

Fireworks on the river, 1979, Chicago.

I’ve always found images of cities – true cities, with skyscrapers and skylines and that immediate sense of visual awe – to be so calming. There’s something pleasant in the idea that despite the millions of bodies, some things stay the same. And that sameness is not necessarily a destructive force, but one that defines a sense of place. 

Methods of Feeling

She said, “It’s perfectly fine to not be over this.” What a relief. A culture of complete stages is not my truth. First this happens, then you feel it constantly, then you work on it, then you feel it never. That is what should happen. But, I have never been good at the “shoulds” of life. I fall into situations; always a push, never a step. 

Your Selves

I think my two selves are so complete that even I forget the interiority and the exteriority exist on different planes. 

The Britt has become so secure in its identity that the Brittany feels more lost than ever. The Britt is public and confident. I am reminded of the Brittany filling out forms for places to feel more secure – financially, emotionally – in the world. It was easy to forget the Brittany was there when I did not have to literally write it out, again and again, as if learning the crossed t’s and swooping y for the first time. Do you even own your name? 

Even now, hearing “Britt” feels foreign. It was a conscious decision to sound less young and feminine. It worked, but it also left me with the remainders of my birth, the time before. A Britt does not eradicate a Brittany. A new does not change the old. If you have not ridden yourself of your things – the ways in which you bottle up your emotions, your deeply felt but never articulated insecurities – then you are left with a growing sense of disconnect. Who will hear you?

Anonymous asked: Do you think you could make a music tag? You've introduced me to a lot of great songs and artists and I would love to be able to go through everything you recommend. Either way, thank you for sharing great music and have a great day!

I’ve had this blog for almost 7 years, so that would be nearly impossible. But, try the player at the bottom of my page, which pops out so you can pick and choose which songs you want to listen to and read their corresponding posts. That has always been at the bottom of my page and always will. 

Satellite Nights from Soho House last weekend featuring light installations by my friend Todd Diedrich and a performance from Twin Shadow.

"Good Kisser" by Usher (Disclosure remix)

Another perfect little remix by Disclosure, the band that is popular but deservedly so. Once again, they make sure to showcase the vocals and spirit of the original while emphasizing their perfected skills toward making brilliant future house jams.

"Church" by Jabru featuring Joel Culpepper

Just ridiculously smooth through and through. This is my favorite bit of Will Saul’s DJ Kicks. It comes as something of a surprise, much slower and stronger deep house aesthetics than anything else on the mix. I find myself singing along to it more often than not. Joel Culpepper’s falsetto though is what truly sets it apart. All smooth, syrupy-even. It’s a sensual stunner that wraps nicely around the downtempo beat of the song. 

"So Long, So Wrong" by Betty Wright and The Roots

My summer prescription for myself and also for anyone that will listen is to listen this in the mornings and take the spirit of the breezy rhythms into your work and play. It works. 

An extra lovely Pride. #vscocam

Anonymous asked: Where's a good place in Chicago to hear some good slam poets?

I’m not really familiar with the slam poetry scene in the city. I’m sorry. But if you’re looking for live performances, I recommend checking out some of Chicago’s live lit and storytelling events. My favorites are Grown Folks Stories at The Silver Room, That’s All She Wrote at the Savoy, and Paper Machete at The Green Mill. 

There were two stories published today which hurt my soul. 

The first, on a woman who faced nearly the exact same encounter that I did a month ago. The thing that killed me was that their suspect is a completely different man than the one I faced. There are multiple men out there, committing the same act of power and humiliation. These aren’t one-off incidents, but the norm. 

There was a moment when I was in the West Side police station when the officer taking my story had to call someone else to verify the charges.

"I was just going to do "public indecency," he said to his superior.

"No. It was an assault," I said firmly. He looked at me and said nothing. I had to clarify: this man was physical and violent. He touched me, held me down. It was not until my father stood up – my 6 foot, 250 pound father, mind you – that he finally uttered, “Right. Sexual assault.” I was furious. My story was not to be believed even as I stood there, not even two hours later, recounting what happened. It was my father who said nothing, but changed the course of the charges. 

The second story recounted multiple incidents occurring in Logan Square, a rapidly-gentrifying neighborhood near me. These too were broad daylight incidents, the only moments when most women are told that we can feel truly “safe.” 

It was too much, but also, a reminder of place. I have traveled all over and still sexual harassment here feels more pronounced and severe and violent here than anywhere else. I always assumed that it would be the opposite, that I would eventually get used to the everyday. But no, it is not until you have been someplace else that you are witness to the shame of your home. 

Summer in Chicago is both the best and the worst. At its best, like last weekend a I danced on top of a roof while dreamily admiring Matthew Dear play a DJ set, it feels like something private and special and perfect. But at it’s worst, it is a cesspool of complacency and despondency. The violence, the agony, the trigger of warmth … it will leave no stone unturned.