I create dreamlike spaces in which I liberate racialized bodies from societal prejudice, from physical gravity...
did you hear me clearly? the ocean has lost its teeth. we have no more mystery. the ground is all disco ball and everyone's ass is out. we are partying on graves...
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my eyes bring peace
my nostrils flare to cause rains
my teeth celebrated worldwide
dimples symmetry personified
my skin radiant
my BMI exact
my cheekbones subject of many a phd thesis
my ears maps of new bodies of water
my thorax people pledge on
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In this year of facing your mortality, the same lesson etches itself deeper and deeper, again and again into your soul, everytime as if it was the first time. Death is real. That’s the lesson. Every time it scares you…
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I was not here when Notre-Dame burned. I had already moved to Montreal. In the last snows of winter, I watched the flames lick her spire from a laptop as my own body was consumed by fires I hadn’t yet detected. I see a yellow crane hovering above the spot where I know the cathedral to be, where hundreds of experts are laying hands on her once-burned body. I am beyond the reach of restorers. Plumes of smoke still billow above my head…
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I have been asked What are you? more times than I have been asked my name. My body is expected to represent much more than merely its flesh.
I am asked if I speak English. I am asked where I’m really from. Where I was born. I’m asked what kind of food I eat. Where my parents are from. I’m asked which parent is which. I’m asked why I don’t speak Spanish, and why I don’t speak Chinese. Why I don’t know my own culture. When I insist that I’m American, that my parents are American, and that they’ve never spoken any other language except English, my words are chewed up, contorted in their mouths; spit back at me like insults…
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