Creative | Posted by Nicole T on 07/15/2011
The Dishwasher’s Daydream
The sink-washed dishes clap thunderously as you dry them
against one another, as if attempting to ignite a fire between
two friendly sticks. The result: a broken dish
or another proclamation that “This cup…plate…bowl is cracking.”
The washed skin on my hand is growing apart, like the leather on
a cow’s back, and it goes down the drain, and gets cozy with the debris
along with the blood that came from cleaning knives too quickly.
You scurry around the kitchen, telling me about your day
as you shove the dishes into their proper places. The plates go
above the larger plates, and ceramic cups go into a different cupboard
next to the other things that aren’t identical in size and shape.
And if I were a bowl, I would be …
Creative | Posted by Melanie Z on 04/8/2011
My Body Is
My body is not an object.
It is not another’s to sculpt or scrutinize.
It is not the canvas on which you paint your expectations and standards.
It is not your playground.
My body is not your project.
It is not where you decide.
It can’t be told what to wear, how to change, when to be available.
Its boundaries are not determined by the others.
My body is my home.
It is where I write my story.
It is where and how and why I reject your critiques and limitations.
It is rebellion in itself.
My body is a revolution.
It is the personification of my soul.
It is the vehicle through which I dance, riot, love, explore.
It is my choice.
It is my reclamation.
It is ever …
Creative | Posted by Cinda SL on 02/25/2011
It began as a whisper, of one woman leaning into the ear of another, “Do you feel it?” she asked.
Then whispered to another, “Do you feel it?” and it began to spread, this whisper, from one woman to another, to another, whispering, “Do you feel it? Do you feel it?”
The question was asked, once, then twice, then ten hundred whispers around the world; women wondering what it was they were feeling. The whispering pulsed as the need for the answer grew.
“Do you feel it?”
The rhythm became stronger, bolder, as it spread to their hearts; knowing not which was the whisper and which was the heartbeat, for the two became one. More and more women began to feel the pounding of a need, not yet understood, and …
Creative | Posted by Talia on 01/7/2011
She Will (Not) Be Loved
I walk down the hall, books held so tightly against my chest that my knuckles are white. I don’t know three-quarters of the people I pass but I feel they’re all looking me, that they can just see what I did with Hailey last night, that they’ll shun me like they did to Christopher, and Jason, and Liana…
“Hey, Gwen,” I hear Hailey’s lovely singsong voice say from behind me, and my knees begin to buckle. The memory of her hand on my cheek, my fingers in her hair, my lips on hers…
“Hi, Hailey,” I say weakly. Hailey catches up to me and walks next to me, as if things were totally normal, as if we hadn’t kissed and touched passionately, for well over an hour until my parents …
Feminism | Posted by Sarah M on 12/28/2010
Hey, You! Go Make a Zine!
Are you interested in writing, creating, drawing, and DIY (“do it yourself”) ethics? Then you, my friend, should write a zine. A zine is a self published mini-magazine that can be about anything you want. Zines can be written, typed, drawn, xeroxed – it is all up to the creator. Zines have been a part of feminism to spread DIY punk feminism etc through local communities.
Zines can be traced back to riot grrrl bands, who created zines to spread their messages to their fans. Zines have recently been in decline because of blogs, but zines allow you to make a messy, imperfect, raw, funny, and inspiring piece of art that stands out in a world that obsesses over perfection and cleanliness.
To get started on a zine, …
Creative | Posted by Elise F on 12/10/2010
what do i dream of, while i’m lying alone in my bed,
swallowed by the darkness,
comforted only by the branches whispering into my window
i can’t fall asleep.
i see the faces, of all the girls
who have slipped through the barrier of our planet
see them crying, see them screaming
see them gasping and thrashing
i see them so well,
it is almost as if the images are being projected onto the dark ceiling
and i can’t fall asleep.
the feeling suffocates me, grabs me
its strong fingers tearing at my skin,
letting the darkness get to me.
my ears buzz, my throat starts closing
and i squeeze my eyes as tight as i can
knowing if i let tears stream down my flushed face,
it’s a sign …
Creative | Posted by Dawn Okoro on 11/12/2010
“Selfsploitation” delves into the psychology of sending sexually suggestive photos of one’s self by cellphone or posting them on social websites. The project includes drawings (some can be seen below), an essay, and a survey conducted on the artist’s blog.
[caption id="attachment_3210" align="aligncenter" width="210" caption=""Untitled 6""]
[caption id="attachment_3211" align="aligncenter" width="218" caption=""Untitled 11""]
Creative | Posted by Ilinca N on 10/29/2010
Blood On Her Mind
Tonight she cannot sleep because there is blood on her mind. It’s on her hands as well and on her nails. Pretty soon the sheets she wraps herself in will be stained with it and sweat; then the stench will fill up the room with sour, tangy vengeance.
They were pink this morning, her hands and nails, but now there’s red to show underneath the paint and sludge she covers her appendages with so that they are merely long and oily instead of long and chapped. The ad-woman says it’s hard to keep hers smooth and attractive. On nights like this, with the iron taste on her tongue, the redness on her body, she can almost believe that, she can almost bring herself to trust the ad-woman and her perfection. …