Jacque Devereaux

In another reality I imagine dwell my sartorial archetypes that I endeavor to uncover more of every change of drags. Jacques Devereaux , Dominique and Billy Dee Williams oldest son and heir, would wear this while on summer holiday with his family in Kennebunkport. I can see him in community with family at the end of a sawgrass and white sanded cold water beach with a rather jovial crowd that from all outward distinctions were not a family but individuals from ever color around the globe. In their midst was the summer prince that needed nothing and wanted even less. His mistakes will be over looked so as to not disrupt the 20 year ascendency framework he and his father hammered together. So feeling lite as light dispersed curl through densities in Keds, Skinny Capris and varsity blues paint a prime narrative. Love the family you were born into and find the family that chooses you.


HIV is not who I am. Its a word symbol bundled around a complex system that can lead to a condition in the human body. Its a word that if spoken communicates something but in and of itself the word is not communicable. Code switching for safety can inversely be also for trapping. Hi Five is code switching armor and linguistic cloaking technology that means HIV.

Flee from me memory

Not even a mangy hyena returns to its own vomitis. The memory of that vibratory taste test on the tip of my tongue has me slip in to a memory of analog hood technology power testing of a found 8volt battery. Is that what power taste like: stomach acid and bile. I however return to what has long been drained of its fecal brown dolphin skin sheen. That ain’t Charlie or Martin. The Nosferatuan pallor of thermo molded linked linear hoarfrost and arsenic of laced layered juniper berry; white Lincoln Logs culled from the kids game, The Versailles and Lincoln. A memory that’s just all grasping; that has forgotten that time and resting gravity sub solar are the sun’s vampire queens. Flee from me memory and the embrace absent of light. Darkness til tragedy-agic doth slay the minds slight.

Hashtag: ineedinclusivegames

I burst to tears and my heart began to ache with joy reading about this. I played D&D in elementary school in the 80’s( think robin redbreast in an unkindness of crows or a murmuration of starlings). Seen Spectator unseen actor: I could never see myself as I see myself in a two dimensional game ill suited for places and things extended to but not made for me. Except in the most extreme visitation of some trait w/social force of my physiology or other: darkness(my dominant eumelanin pigmentation and I am a Dark Elf. my same sex attraction expressed as a female character). I later developed a vocabulary for the understanding vocalization that reference a part of my blackness and queerness as earlier visualized and monolithologized in D&D as a female and as blackness. I hope: the homophobia imported by colonial imperialism and the weaponized use of homosexual rape to emasculate and geld enslaved African men denormoalizing/demonizing place for pre existing same sex relationship with the codification of Eurocentric masculine feminine binary models further demonizing the Afro feminine aesthetics( misogynoir), the ingression of toxic masculinity by the systems of chattel enslavery starting in the Middle East after the closure of the Black Sea route (eliminating the system of human enslavement), the profiteering through social destabilization by tribes constantly at war to sell other Africans no longer skews collective the weave and weft the interpersonal and intrapersonal psycho-social spiritual dynamics of exo-planetarian people descended from terrestrial African explores. All the aforesaid would happen if the creators exercise Supreme positionality to influence codification of a newer alloy in the substrate Afro-epistemology.


My full body’s awe increases exponentially and is directly proportionate to the daily amount of mindful listening committed to a visitation with genius, Eartha Kitt. When I think of the daily visitation by forces external internal known or unkown from society, its gatekeepers, its institutions just to name a few that implicitly and explicitly marshalled enforce against her, an unstoppable force burdened with being the gift colliding against unmmovable social barriers that did however bend to her my awe expands into a universe uncontractable.

Dread in Me

Texas has an inconsistent legacy that is consistent with the sometimes inimical vagaries hostis humani generis that beckon against all knowledge to have hope were all evidence points to none in an impossible turn back to what seems like paradise to most and was Jim Crow, water cannons and German Shepards for least recognized


Ars art gratia

The fall arts season was on hiatus last year.

Not this year however.

Over the next couple of weeks we will be sharing what we find as we think they are in degrees and in different ways potentially a means to understand more than just their sublime unspeakable beauty. We think that art is  possibly the root means of access to an increased capacity of empathy for ourselves and for the gentlethems and the thaydies in whose company we rarely find ourselves mixing.


Diana Pulchrid, says

Folk devils…moral panic…critical race theory…panic drives the structure of laws…laws become the framework of society…that framework  is the scaffolding for the judicial prison industrial complex…
this has created a seemingly American carceral necro political state…justice does not live with us because it is not welcome. And yet we lustfully forage for it in the forest and plead for it in the hearts darkness of those so afraid. In over 400 years in the desert we keep coming around in hope to see a mirage. Hope is an animal carcass when closely examined and whatever you don’t have but need when gleaned through the vapors in the offing. Its not found. And the ardor, the craving for justice that heats the heart and the bones is like fire shut up in my loins. I will surely burn alive before The Chimera, Justice, is greeted, wrestled down, shot and stuffed, or embraced with tears that rush to hush. Because as soon as I see it it will be gone. So I pretend the fable of a dream has rotten as quickly as God can be forgotten. “