Audacia Ray's Blog, page 51
June 14, 2011
Three days from now
I will be done working at the International Women's Health Coalition.
I am ready, though I don't know what's next in the cash flow department of my life.
I am excited to fill my early mornings with reading, running, and writing dates with a dear friend. I am excited to set myself to the task of healing my broken brain and heart, and sorting out how I feel about feminism, professional and otherwise, and what the hell I'm going to do about it. I am excited to listen to myself more and learn where I am after three years of having a full time, paid, legal job with all the trappings.
curate:
(via Radical History Review — Table of Contents (Spring...
(via Radical History Review — Table of Contents (Spring 2011, 2011 [110]))
True story: I interned for the Radical History Journal during my sophomore year of college, when it was based in a weird dusty corner of the 10th floor of NYU's Bobst Library, in the Tamiment Library & Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives. The managing editor advised me never to go to graduate school (I didn't listen, but probably should have).
Have started hanging art in my new apartment. This is an homage...
Have started hanging art in my new apartment. This is an homage to Man Ray's Le Violon d'Ingres - featuring me, shot by Stacie Joy.
(my hand is crooked, not the picture itself)
June 13, 2011
Pictured: families speak out / media swarms.
On Saturday I got...
Pictured: families speak out / media swarms.
On Saturday I got up early and borrowed a van from a friend in order to drive a group of sex worker activists to a memorial service at Gilgo Beach for Megan Waterman, Maureen Brainard-Barnes, Amber Lynn Costello, Melissa Barthelemy, and the still-missing Shannan Gilbert - victims of the Long Island serial killer. All but one of the activist folks who said that they'd come to the memorial canceled the night before and the morning of. So I drove an empty 15 passenger van to Long Island, and picked up one person along the way. I can't quite explain how enraged and saddened I was by the fact that everyone shied away from this event (especially with a big party/performance planned for tomorrow night). But at the same time, I understand. I didn't want to go either, and I know that life stuff happens. When the families announced this date for the memorial, SWOP NYC wrote to them and offered our support and presence, and they said we were welcome to be there. So I wanted to go and offer my solidarity. I think that if we're going to speak out in the media and make our presence known in that forum, it is important to show up for the tough IRL stuff too.
It was cold and damp and gray at Gilgo Beach. I feel like I absorbed a lot of other people's pain, along with the soggy sadness of the air. And I was glad to do so, though it was hard to hold and I'm not sure I've done a good job of releasing that sadness out of my body and back into the universe. It feels, like the cold and the smell of the salt air, that its burrowed deeper into me.
Before today I knew, as a sex worker, what it is like to be afraid - of clients, police, the unknowable that I could only be so prepared for. But talking to the moms of these women - my peers, who won't ever come home - made me realize how little I understand of pain and fear and loss.
I wish I could say more now, write more about it. But its feeling stuck in my head and heart and I just don't know what to do with all of this.
June 11, 2011
Pictured: families speak out / media swarms.
Today I got up...
Pictured: families speak out / media swarms.
Today I got up early and borrowed a van from a friend in order to drive a group of sex worker activists to a memorial service at Gilgo Beach for Megan Waterman, Maureen Brainard-Barnes, Amber Lynn Costello, Melissa Barthelemy, and the still-missing Shannan Gilbert - all victims of the Long Island serial killer. All but one of the activist folks who said that they'd come to the memorial canceled last night and this morning. So I drove an empty 15 passenger van to Long Island, and picked up one person along the way. I can't quite explain how enraged and saddened I was by the fact that everyone shied away from this event (especially with a big party/performance planned for tomorrow night). But at the same time, I understand. I didn't want to go either. When the families announced this date for the memorial, SWOP NYC wrote to them and offered our support and presence, and they said we were welcome to be there. So I wanted to go and offer my solidarity. I think that if we're going to speak out in the media and make our presence known in that forum, it is important to show up for the tough IRL stuff too.
It was cold and damp and gray at Gilgo Beach today. I feel like I absorbed a lot of other people's pain, along with the soggy sadness of the air. And I was glad to do so, though it was hard to hold and I'm not sure I've done a good job of releasing that sadness out of my body and back into the universe. It feels, like the cold and the smell of the salt air, that its burrowed deeper into me.
Before today I knew, as a sex worker, what it is like to be afraid - of clients, police, the unknowable that I could only be so prepared for. But talking to the moms of these women - my peers, who won't ever come home - made me realize how little I understand of pain and fear and loss.
I wish I could say more now, write more about today. But its feeling stuck in my head and heart and I just don't know what to do with all of this.
June 9, 2011
Give a listen to Red Umbrella Diaries podcast episode 45, a...
Give a listen to Red Umbrella Diaries podcast episode 45, a story called "Making the Paper," featuring Ms Cayenne Doroshow. The lady is amazing, a gifted storyteller with a lot of stories to tell. This one is about getting busted in her home during a domming session and then, a few months later, getting majorly outed on the front page of her local paper.
A transition and a leap
Next Friday will be my last day as the program officer of online communications at the International Women's Health Coalition, a job I've done for nearly three years. Why I'm leaving is somewhat complicated, as these things are. I'm leaving with a lot of questions and frustration about both institutional feminism and online advocacy. I feel like I know a lot more than when I started this job in 2008, but not all of it is good. Questions are good though, even if the answers aren't immediately forthcoming.
I am taking a leap in leaving my job, since I don't have another one to step into. I mean, I have plenty of work (I always will) but I'm not quite sure about the money side of the equation. I am open to suggestions, ideas, and invitations. In the meantime I will be spending some time reassessing, and I'll be putting in some hours to further develop the Red Umbrella Project. I also will be putting in some hours drinking sangria, relaxing by the air conditioner, and reading while wearing pajamas.
June 8, 2011
nakedpicturesofyourdad:
Here's the flyer. Don't mind how ugly...
Here's the flyer. Don't mind how ugly it is, the readers are all beautiful people. Also there is free wine.
I'm going to be there, like the flyer says. I think I'm going to tell a pair of stories about sex work as a service profession, one about an intersex client with a microphallus and another about fisting a New York City firefighter.
Favoured Strangers: On Thinking Yourself a Tourist: Sex Work & Class
I realize now what really pissed me off about him was that he got to be a writer, paid and played, while I schlepped dick so I can write in my free time. We both were pretending to be tourists here. Me, a young professional who moonlighted as a sex worker and him and wacky college who visited massage parlors so he could write about the 'gritty' experiences of real life. Really, though, neither of us are tourists or 'just visiting' this situation. He's still a regular who pays to get off and this is still the best paying job I've ever had.
Fierce and smart. Read the whole thing.
