Setting Goals in Apocalyptic Times

On writing into intentionality

Content notice: child abuse, suicidal ideation, depression

Like many survivors of sustained childhood abuse, I have always had difficulty imagining a future. I treated days like branches to swing between like I’m getting away from something, quickly, but moving without a destination or promise of safety. Though I had no explicit plans for self-termination, so to speak (that chapter of my life closed sometime in college), I was living less like I wanted to live and more like I wasn’t opposed to dying. I assumed I would, however subconsciously, and never thought I would make it to 36, the age I turned on June 19th. My efforts to live sustainably and with intention have brought on more meditations on what it means to create a life worth living in an age of profound political, environmental, social, and medical turbulence, especially as a queer disabled person whose rights are under fire and whose communities are explicitly under attack by the U.S. government at this time. 

Predictably, this has re-stoked my attention toward the work of memoir. I have been saying to many, even in these missives, that I will eventually, finally, write about Fariha Róisín’s Who Is Wellness For, and haven’t. The delay is due to a need to read the book in small sips. Each chapter leaves me reeling with memory and revelation. Her story hits very close to the marrow of mine, even though the circumstances that produced similar experiences of survival are quite different. She is also a Bangladeshi raised elsewhere, operating in English. She is also obsessed with trying to heal, though she is more consistently dedicated and seemingly, less destructive. Her phrasing and syntax bear occasionally uncanny similarities to mine. Every time I pick it up, I write my own story in fits and starts, small explosions of memory and processing that I have reluctantly admitted may be the beginnings of my own memoir. 

I have been told, jokingly and otherwise, that I should really write a memoir, and every time I have been told this, I say that I have not lived long enough to qualify. Toni Morrison encouraged Angela Davis to write her autobiography at age 30, which she did reluctantly for the same reasons. But she was, you know, Angela Davis. I don’t say this to discount my own experience, but it’s objectively true that, as far as I know, I have not single-handedly changed the world and my communities through my work and existence, let alone through written political testimony. However, I have lived a fairly unique cultural existence as a Bangladeshi raised in Italy, based in Brooklyn, who grew into becoming a poet, an educator, and editor, and was thrown into the world of surviving disabled in 2020 at the height of one of the most devastating global pandemics in recent memory. I have been reluctant to write about my early traumas and their impact for fear of throwing people under the bus or exposing frightening things about my history to the public. However, it is becoming increasingly clear that I am not alone in the unspeakable experiences I have sustained, and that the particulars are little discussed. If I can write something that might help someone feel seen or provide answers or solace the way Róisín’s memoir has begun to do for me, I feel a responsibility to do so. So here goes. If any readers of this newsletter have recommendations for their favorite memoirs or have advice about how best to go about the process, I urge you to be in touch! 

Meanwhile, I am spending the rest of this month developing (another) final draft of my poetry collection, Pain Baby, after which this newsletter is named, to meet July 31 deadlines for open reading and award submissions. This also terrifies me, but feels like part of the turn toward greater intentionality and honesty about my life. I named the book Pain Baby to reflect a variety of relationships with pain and with the word “baby” and its many uses, and because I often identify with the term to describe myself or an ailment or point of pain in my body. Many talk about their first book as a birthing, and I feel heavy with with the responsibility, fear, and excitement of the possibility of its being in the world in what I imagine may be somewhat similar. Please pray to your creativity and productivity gods for me, and again, if you’re reading this and remember the trials of putting together your first collection for publication, I would love any words of advice or encouragement.

NEWS:

Upcoming Reading: On Monday, July 10th, I will be reading my poetry in an interdisciplinary arts performance alongside Garrett Kim, Madison Murray, Karoline Xu, Nick Kaidoo, Emily Roese, and Andrea Abello at Brooklyn Artery at 1004 Cortelyou Road, Brooklyn, NY, 11218. This is the second edition of The Parlor, a reading series organized by Emily Roese and Andrea “Dre” Abello. The event is free, and interested parties are invited to join us for a little afterparty at King Mother, a fabulous wine bar across the street. I’m super excited to be performing in an entirely new space (and close to home!) and that I will (finally!) have more copies of my chapbook, The Relativity of Living Well, for sale. If you’re New York-based, roll through!

In Surreal Life: I am, with Judith Ohikuare, a fellow in Shira Erlichman’s online poetry and creativity program, In Surreal Life, and registration is open for our August session! The program invites participants to create community across core groups of 3-4 and in the larger cohort in Slack while writing or creating something once a day in response to Shira’s extraordinary and beautifully designed prompts. I participated in the program in April 2020 and was fundamentally transformed. Without ISL, I don’t believe I would have ever taken myself seriously as a poet or had the spine to create the hand-made mutual aid object that became The Relativity of Living Well. If you’re looking for a warm, friendly, unpretentious, and deeply supportive space to foster your creativity, I strongly recommend applying to ISL. Feel free to reach out and ask me questions! Applications close on July 25.

ISL’s absolutely fantastic Colleen Callery is leaving soon leaving our team for greener pastures, which means that if you’re a creative marketing manager with excellent social media skills, we may have a lovely part-time opportunity for you! See below.

Bard College, Simon’s Rock: I have the great honor of reading and answering questions for high school students attending a summer writing workshop at Bard Simon’s Rock next week Wednesday, July 12. It’s been three years since I’ve had the pleasure of being an educator of young people in any capacity, and I miss it every day. I’m very excited and grateful too for a long train ride to Massachusetts for quiet, uninterrupted reading.

Queer, Trans, and Allies Picnic: Writer, poet, and journalist Elly Belle and I, as queer disabled people often unable to attend Pride and/or Queer Liberation events because of heat, humidity, mobility issues, crowds, the prevalence of alcohol and drugs, and other stressors, are co-hosting a picnic for queer and trans folks and their allies as a place to commune without the pressures of more conventional Pride or Queer Liberation events. This is a space where no money will be exchanged, and everyone is encouraged to prioritize their comfort. We encourage you to bring arts and crafts, coloring, food, beverages, your writing or art, beach balls, frisbees, friendly dogs, children, friends, people new to the city, blankets, water, cups, utensils, paper towels, trash bags, etc. We will be adjacent to the LeFrak Center at Prospect Park where we will have easy access to clean restrooms and support staff. We expect that everyone tests for COVID-19 before arrival and otherwise remains aware of that this aims to be an accessible space. If this sounds like your bag, please join us! Sunday, July 16 @ 2pm.

New York Poetry Festival, Governor’s Island, July 29-30: Every year on the last week­end of July, The Poet­ry Soci­ety of New York (PSNY) invites poet­ry orga­ni­za­tions and col­lec­tives of all shapes and sizes to bring their unique for­mats, aes­thet­ics, and per­son­al­i­ties to beau­ti­ful Gov­er­nors Island for The New York City Poet­ry Fes­ti­val, a free week­end of read­ings, work­shops, open mics, instal­la­tions, per­for­mances, writ­ing activ­i­ties, book­selling, chil­dren’s pro­gram­ming, a beer gar­den, deli­cious food, and a whole lot of lying around in the grass lis­ten­ing to poetry. This year, as guest editor of No, Dear Magazine’s latest issue, themed CHRONIC, I will serve as MC and will read representing No, Dear’s wonderful New York City poets. Please attend and enjoy the poetry of the city in the sunshine and grass.

REQUESTS FOR COMMUNITY SUPPORT:

Sign: As I’ve been wailing from the rooftops for some time, there is insufficient attention and funding given to the long-term effects of long COVID nationwide. Please sign the Action Network petition to authorize the TREAT Long COVID Act. This Act would authorize the Department of Health and Human Services to award monies and priority to community health centers and healthcare providers serving medically underserved and disproportionally affected populations, and ensure that patients are not denied treatment based on insurance coverage, among other things.

Donate: A queer Bangladeshi community member who recently had their possessions stolen, is facing housing instability, and is suffering significant mental health fallout from this traumatic event is soliciting donations to find safe, comfortable housing and replace crucial belongings. If you are amenable and able, please consider donating.

Rooms Available: Elly Belle has two rooms open in their spacious, beautiful Crown Heights home and would prefer LGBTQ+ and disability and COVID-conscious artists and writers to have first dibs at the rooms. If you or someone you know is looking for housing starting in August, please check out this Craigslist post for details.

RECOMMENDATIONS AND REVIEWS:

Short Story Collection: Her Body and Other Parties, by Carmen Maria Machado: Believe me, I know how late I am to this party, but it was just the right time for me. The stories in this collection explode the notion of genre, straddling science fiction, horror, fantasy, romance, and surrealist bacchanal, expressing the absurdity of life lived in a femme body through reworkings of myth, fable, and in one case, Law and Order SVU, to embody and reclaim the madness that we have historically been accused of, dismissed for, or asked to suppress though it is ultimately produced by the macabre and unspoken pressures of patriarchy. I could not be more thrilled to be carrying this around and re-reading the stories every time I hop on the train.

TV Show: Dead Ringers: I’m only part of the way through this TV miniseries adaptation of David Cronenberg’s 1988 film of the same name, but can’t wait to move all the way through it before proverbially running into the streets to tell everyone to watch it. There is psychological and body horror throughout, much of it to do with gynecology given that the protagonists, twin sister OBGYNs played by Rachel Weiss, are deep in the muck of how women’s bodies are magical, medicalized, ripe for capitalist reupholstering for immortality, and subject to endless pathologization and experimentation around fertility. It’s also one of the most disturbingly sexy queer and lesbian narratives I have seen in ages. The perfect Pride/Halloween mashup experience for my dark little heart.

Album: Lucy Dacus’ 2018 Indie/ Alternative album Historian has carried me through a time of strange meditations these past few weeks, largely because its central theme, articulated across many beautifully written tracks rich with clever and unexpected turns, is about how people navigate grief, breaking up, death, and changing one’s relationship to existence. This album sparkles with tremendous aural variety, weaving in several different instruments, spoken word elements, and collaborators, pushing me further to explore more singer-songwriters willing to go to the darkest parts of their personal lives to produce what I can only deem popular lyric poetry.

In strength and solidarity, and until next time.

Ashna