I Read Stone Butch Blues When It Was First Published. I Was 18, Just Barely Out, And A Sophomore At A

I read Stone Butch Blues when it was first published. I was 18, just barely out, and a sophomore at a liberal arts women's college 45 minutes from my parents' house. That would've been... 1993? Yup. 1993.

The book fundamentally changed my understanding of... pretty much everything.

My great-grandparents were all working class. On my dad's side (his parents were cousins), they were farmers. On my mom's maternal side, they were European immigrants and union bricklayers. On her paternal side, Jewish immigrants. Her dad and his sister were raised by their mom, who was not, I believe, religious, and didn't raise them in the faith. She was a shopkeeper.

My grandparents' generation were college-educated (possibly except for my dad's mom). My dad's father was a math teacher and my mom's father, educated at Caltech, was a civil engineer. My mom's mother ran my grandfather's business, including a real estate office for a while.

Both my parents graduated from Stanford and taught English (my dad, who had a Ph.D., eventually went into corporate management to make more money).

So... I grew up surrounded by both the privileged world of aspirational academia and the, much more resonant for me, family stories about immigrant lives, trade unions, and beautiful craftsmanship.

I can do the academic thing, and do it well, but I have always preferred making things to studying them. I have always felt a bit out-of-sync with my family’s "evolution" towards increasingly academic pursuits. I like using my brain, but I like to keep my hands dirty while I do it.

Leslie Feinberg's writing became, for me, the first place where my own queerness and my identification with my family’s immigrant and working-class roots, made sense to me as parts of a single whole.

The summer after my junior year, I went through a directory I'd gotten my hands on of lesbians working in the arts, and sent out letters to those who seemed interesting, compatible, and far enough away from my childhood in California to let me try my hand at becoming something more than my parents' daughter. I asked for an apprenticeship.

As such things do, the end result wound up being... very different from what I'd imagined. I got a gig in New Hampshire helping a musician and her trans partner, who made their living busking on hammered dulcimer. I was meant to go live in a tent on their land, help with the straw bale house they were building, help babysit their 3 year old daughter, and join the busking on my harp. As it turns out, I have absolutely NO musical improvisation ability and had no clue what to do when there wasn't sheet music. The harp spent the summer in its case. Also turns out that my social anxiety made not having my own, completely private, space to retreat to unbearable. I wound up renting a tiny apartment in a nearby college town. And then... well, it turned out that the weather wasn't great for house building, and my girlfriend, spending the summer outside DC with her parents, was miserable, and so she came to join me, and...

Well. Before my girlfriend arrived, I did a lot of hiking and lake swimming, went to Boston Pride and cheered on my busking "bosses," joined them and their friends for a summer solstice ritual at which I was introduced to the concept of herbed butter and the back-breaking problems of invasive blackberry, and rode in their decomposing old subaru wagon (it's fascinating to warch the road go by through clusters of tiny, rusted out, salt-holes in the footwell) all the way to New York, specifically to hear Leslie Feinberg speak.

I was the most awestruck, hero-worshipping baby dyke imaginable, the youngest person in the room by at least a decade, and I still remember the sensation of blushing for *three hours.* Because. I was. In. The. Same. Room. As. Leslie. Feinberg.

That summer broke me wide open. It was the first time I ever felt like I, as an individual being, might hold power, make something that changed things, in the world.

That feeling, of urgent, hopeful agency, swells and recedes in my life, but I never experience it without thinking of Stone Butch Blues and of Leslie Feinberg. And yes, I still blush. Every damn time.

Happy (early) Nov 15th! Remember That Stone Butch Blues Is Free Now And Always To Read Here

Happy (early) Nov 15th! Remember that Stone Butch Blues is free now and always to read here

Leslie was a communist, a butch lesbian, a nonbinary and transgender activist, and the person who made me who I am today. Consider checking out Stone Butch Blues if you haven’t already 😘 Do it for Leslie, and for hir surviving partner, Minnie Bruce Pratt 💕

More Posts from Dangerous-button and Others

2 weeks ago
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean
We Are The Ocean

We Are The Ocean

Ursala Hudson (Tlingit/Filipino/German)

collar: merino wool, silk, steel cones, leather. ravenstail patterns, crochet, basketry twining technique. Woman as a Wave shawl: merino wool, silk, cedar bark. chilkat and ravenstail patterns, crochet, basketry twining technique. Tidal apron: merino wool, silk, leather, steel cones. chilkat and ravenstail patterns.

“We Are the Ocean is an ensemble comprised of a collar, apron (entitled Tidal), and shawl (entitled Woman as a Wave). The collar and bottom edge of the shawl are twined using a basketry technique to bring delicacy to the regalia, made specifically to emphasize the wearer’s feminine essence. In place of the sea otter fur that traditionally lines the top of Chilkat and Ravenstail weavings, the merino weft yarns were used to crochet the collar and shawl’s neck lines, bringing forward and incorporating a European craft practiced by both my maternal (Tlingit/Filipino) and paternal (German) grandmothers. The high neck of the collar gives tribute to the Western aesthetics that have forever influenced the Indigenous cultures of our lands; with grace, we embrace that which cannot be undone, and use our new form to be better. The apron’s pattern was studied and graphed from an old Tlingit cedar bark basket, and represents the tides of our lives, as our lessons continue to arise in a revolving cycle, yet made of new debris. The repetitive pattern of the shawl represents the infinite connectedness of our sisters, mothers, aunties, and daughters. Blue lines break up inverted rows, representing the “past,” “present,” and “future,” acknowledging these concepts as irrelevant constructs that fall away when we commune with the Divine. The entire ensemble is worn to evoke the innate spirit of the Woman as an ethereal deity, that resides within us all.”


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4 months ago

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.


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3 months ago

Hey you know what sucks is predatory companies that make you enter your email address so that they can harass and advertise to you to access resources you might need to keep track of expenses after a disaster. So, uh, fuck them.

If you need to track the cost of things like hotel stays, pet kenneling, medical care, etc. after a disaster you can use this worksheet.

If you need to create an inventory of your home for an insurance claim (and if you'd like to do this to keep someplace safe before a disaster) you can use this worksheet (two pages, instructions on the first page, worksheet on the second).

And here's a FEMA document with numbers for disaster relief groups and a checklist of documents that you may need to have replaced as well as a description of what to do if you had cash in your home that was destroyed and can possibly be replaced.

1 year ago

My doctor when I was diagnosed with type 2 was surprised that I "hadn't managed to damage my kidneys yet," couldn't be bothered to give me any information about how to stay healthy except for "don't eat such huge servings of junk food," (at the time, I ate a high-fiber vegan diet with only complex carbs), and infomed me that my diabetes was the result of having too much belly fat.

I've had strangers give me crap when they see me testing my bg levels.

My dad, who went to the gym every single day and was in better shape than anyone I knew, was also diagnosed with type 2. My body type is very much like his and his mom's. I seriously doubt that my college-era froot loops binges are the reason I developed diabetes.

News flash: willpower is not actually a metabolic influence, food isn't bad for you, and fat people actually tend to physically cope better with t2d than thin people do.

Also, unlike diabetes, lack of critical thinking skills, empathy, and basic decency are NOT genetically influenced, and respond well to (mental) exercise as an intervention.

Like this is a whole different rant but the way people talk about diabetes in general makes me so pissed off. Diabetes isn't a moral failing. Diabetes isn't something people can "deserve to have". No you can't say only people with type 1 deserve sympathy, what the fuck is wrong with you etc. No you can't get diabetes from eating too much sugar. Stop implying people with type 2 should die


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3 weeks ago
This Is Fucking Awesome LMAOOOO

This is fucking awesome LMAOOOO

This Is Fucking Awesome LMAOOOO

article link


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1 year ago

The last sentence is everything.

What I was taught growing up: Wild edible plants and animals were just so naturally abundant that the indigenous people of my area, namely western Washington state, didn't have to develop agriculture and could just easily forage/hunt for all their needs.

The first pebble in what would become a landslide: Native peoples practiced intentional fire, which kept the trees from growing over the camas praire.

The next: PNW native peoples intentionally planted and cultivated forest gardens, and we can still see the increase in biodiversity where these gardens were today.

The next: We have an oak prairie savanna ecosystem that was intentionally maintained via intentional fire (which they were banned from doing for like, 100 years and we're just now starting to do again), and this ecosystem is disappearing as Douglas firs spread, invasive species take over, and land is turned into European-style agricultural systems.

The Land Slide: Actually, the native peoples had a complex agricultural and food processing system that allowed them to meet all their needs throughout the year, including storing food for the long, wet, dark winter. They collected a wide variety of plant foods (along with the salmon, deer, and other animals they hunted), from seaweeds to roots to berries, and they also managed these food systems via not only burning, but pruning, weeding, planting, digging/tilling, selectively harvesting root crops so that smaller ones were left behind to grow and the biggest were left to reseed, and careful harvesting at particular times for each species that both ensured their perennial (!) crops would continue thriving and that harvest occurred at the best time for the best quality food. American settlers were willfully ignorant of the complex agricultural system, because being thus allowed them to claim the land wasn't being used. Native peoples were actively managing the ecosystem to produce their food, in a sustainable manner that increased biodiversity, thus benefiting not only themselves but other species as well.

So that's cool. If you want to read more, I suggest "Ancient Pathways, Ancestral Knowledge: Ethnobotany and Ecological Wisdom of Indigenous Peoples of Northwestern North America" by Nancy J. Turner

1 week ago
The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork Of Native Artist Margaret Nazon
The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork Of Native Artist Margaret Nazon
The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork Of Native Artist Margaret Nazon
The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork Of Native Artist Margaret Nazon

The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork of Native Artist Margaret Nazon

Margaret Nazon has spent the past decade building intricate beadwork depictions of outer space. The colorful artworks balance representational and stylized aesthetics set on black fabric backgrounds to depict galaxies, planets, nebulae, and other astronomical phenomena.

Initially inspired by Hubble space telescope images, Nazon’s celestial renderings are part of a lifelong interest in beading. In an interview with Glenbow, the artist shared that she began beading at age 10, but found the density of traditional beadwork to be tedious.

The abstract nature of celestial images allows Nazon to be more interpretive and incorporate different materials like caribou bones and willow seeds that have location-specific or cultural significance. Nazon is Tsiigehtchic, part of the Gwich’in community in what is now the Northwest Territories of Canada. The artist explained that because she is retired, she is able to dedicate significant time to beading, and often rises at 4:30am to begin working. Nazon plans to continue experimenting, including merging her abstract beadwork with her seamstress skills to create artfully embellished apparel.

Nazon’s artwork was most recently exhibited at Glenbow in a group show, Cosmos, and A Beaded Universe at Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre. You can read more about her in the Glenbow interview, and explore Nazon’s portfolio on her website.

source article: X


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6 months ago

We need to bring back the athletics body type post


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1 week ago
The Halal food industry is about to grow significantly.

Your choices are salmonella or Halal clean poultry. I'll take the latter thank you, but wouldn't be surprised to see some choose salmonella to own the Muslims. https://t.co/tCEES1z1iI

— Qasim Rashid, Esq. (@QasimRashid) April 25, 2025

Oooo that's a good idea


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6 months ago

I’m all scratched up and I can still taste spray paint in my mouth and my husband almost fell out of a tree BUT THE GHOST SCULPTURES ARE FINISHED!

They’re finally finished and I’m so happy with them!!

I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of

Some progress shots:

I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of
I’m All Scratched Up And I Can Still Taste Spray Paint In My Mouth And My Husband Almost Fell Out Of

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dangerous-button - buttons & bottleglass
buttons & bottleglass

the small reciprocities of crows

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