Pedarists Read This
Pedarists read this
Pedarists hear this
I fucking hate queers
Do you know
That you should by all rights be dead.
How can I tell you.
How can I convince you
brother
sister
that your life is in danger:
Everyday you wake up
alive,
relatively happy,
a functioning human being,
you rebel.
Three hundred and sixty five
Three hundred and sixty five
Times seven
You have outstripped your forgiveness
Each of those days they have taken “sacred”
Each of those days they have taken “possible”
Each of those days they have taken “queer”
From me
From us
Fourteen plus years ago a new day was dawning.
Papers descended on Pride parades
Like so many refractory raindrops.
stirrings of revolution
Time had come for the next stage in socio-sexual revolution.
What we needed was a re-envisioning of the paradigm.
tired of fighting for acceptance,
fighting to enter the heteronormative world,
fighting for subsistance victories
ammounting to safety at the cost of our identity.
We’d grown weary under the weight of AIDS
weary of the battle for inclusion.
It was time for the creation of a safe space,
a gay and lesbian utopia.
A utopia of sexual liberation
gender expression,
a safe space to count our losses
create a history of non-normativity,
posit the battle not against prejudices
but rather posit ourselves against society itself.
The battle was not for rights
but for existence.
It was the battle for the deconstruction of the taxonomy on which society hangs.
It was time for a battle of people,
non-normative people,
a battle for a safe space,
a space named queer.
The space was named queer
insofar as it was non-normative.
It redefined the battleground.
The question was no longer who
but what.
No longer who wants inclusion,
but what are we fighting for.
The dream was queer,
the people was us.
we were a people moving towards queer,
creating queer,
students of,
founders of,
calling it into existence with derogatory terms
stripped of their meaning,
the conversation stopped.
silence falling.
The naming game ended,
there,
dead in its tracks.
Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender...
Silence.
If you were (you), join us,
if you were (you), join us,
if you were (you), join us.
If you hated the constrictions of heternormative, homo-defined culture, join us.
If you felt you could not find a safe space to desire, join us.
If you needed a home in something different, join us.
We’re on our way to queer
and there is plenty of room.
But somewhere,
someone outside saw the bus marked queer and shouted
“You can’t go,
not like that,
not with that word,
thats my word...Queers!”
“And what?!”
The bus stopped immediately.
Where was queer if we were here?
Where were we going if queer was us,
if each of us could be queer?
If collectively we constituted queer?
“We’re queer, we’re here, get used to it!”
Shouted one as he dismounted the bus
stood defiantly in opposition to the crowd.
Another dismounted
declared it the year of the queer.
Another began distributing flyers,
promoting the cause,
declaring everyone pitted against heteronormativity, queer.
We remained on the bus.
Were we queer?
Few stayed on the bus.
We were moving towards queer,
across the country to queer.
The movement flew through the crowd by means of those dimounted,
our struggle preceded us.
They called from the streets,
“Queers!”
Pointing.
Some jumped on the side of the bus,
began shouting for gay rights to fuck,
for lesbian adoption,
for marriage.
They too called themselves queer.
Their weight slowed our progress,
they were unevenly distributed,
we began to pull to the right.
They scrawled an S on our bus
hung placards beneath,
qualifiers.
They climbed inside through the tinted windows.
They began to ask our names,
to sit in groups.
They opened the windows to wave at the crowds,
shout their slogans,
plug their causes.
People began to point at us,
there from the start,
the pedarists,
the permiscuous,
the gay,
the bisexual,
the intersexed.
They called out our names and we shouted, “Queer!”
They shouted our names in sequence. “Queer!?”
Then it happened,
the new “queers” asked us to sit together
One side of the bus,
they asked us to duck
from the largest crowds.
“Just for a sec,
they’ll be more receptive.”
Eventually they blacked out our windows.
But the bus was everyday more and more crowded,
more folks piling on every day.
Most G, L, B
G, G, G
Would you mind moving back,
moving down,
moving on.
They began to ask
By name,
they called us,
by name they knew us,
those outside knew too closely our composition.
Friends, don’t be fooled,
queers are not your allies.
Queer itself is no longer your ally
insofar as these squatters have stolen its name.
Drawing lines,
Asking questions.
Who’s in?
Who’s out?
The debate rages:
are they included?
Must I associate with every
single
social
degenerate
just to join this Q basket?
Must I sacrifice morality
to find community
with the non-normative?
To have a history?
Who’s in?
Who’s out?
We are surely no longer in.
And it is indeed miraculous
That you are here to hear these words.
You should by all rights be dead.
How can I tell you.
How can I convince you
brother
sister
that your life is in danger:
Everyday you wake up
alive,
relatively happy,
a functioning human being,
you rebel.
You, an alive and functioning pedarist,
are a revolutionary.
Nothing here validates,
Nothing here protects,
Encourages your existence,
not even queer.
Pedarists hear this
I fucking hate queers
Do you know
That you should by all rights be dead.
How can I tell you.
How can I convince you
brother
sister
that your life is in danger:
Everyday you wake up
alive,
relatively happy,
a functioning human being,
you rebel.
Three hundred and sixty five
Three hundred and sixty five
Times seven
You have outstripped your forgiveness
Each of those days they have taken “sacred”
Each of those days they have taken “possible”
Each of those days they have taken “queer”
From me
From us
Fourteen plus years ago a new day was dawning.
Papers descended on Pride parades
Like so many refractory raindrops.
stirrings of revolution
Time had come for the next stage in socio-sexual revolution.
What we needed was a re-envisioning of the paradigm.
tired of fighting for acceptance,
fighting to enter the heteronormative world,
fighting for subsistance victories
ammounting to safety at the cost of our identity.
We’d grown weary under the weight of AIDS
weary of the battle for inclusion.
It was time for the creation of a safe space,
a gay and lesbian utopia.
A utopia of sexual liberation
gender expression,
a safe space to count our losses
create a history of non-normativity,
posit the battle not against prejudices
but rather posit ourselves against society itself.
The battle was not for rights
but for existence.
It was the battle for the deconstruction of the taxonomy on which society hangs.
It was time for a battle of people,
non-normative people,
a battle for a safe space,
a space named queer.
The space was named queer
insofar as it was non-normative.
It redefined the battleground.
The question was no longer who
but what.
No longer who wants inclusion,
but what are we fighting for.
The dream was queer,
the people was us.
we were a people moving towards queer,
creating queer,
students of,
founders of,
calling it into existence with derogatory terms
stripped of their meaning,
the conversation stopped.
silence falling.
The naming game ended,
there,
dead in its tracks.
Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender...
Silence.
If you were (you), join us,
if you were (you), join us,
if you were (you), join us.
If you hated the constrictions of heternormative, homo-defined culture, join us.
If you felt you could not find a safe space to desire, join us.
If you needed a home in something different, join us.
We’re on our way to queer
and there is plenty of room.
But somewhere,
someone outside saw the bus marked queer and shouted
“You can’t go,
not like that,
not with that word,
thats my word...Queers!”
“And what?!”
The bus stopped immediately.
Where was queer if we were here?
Where were we going if queer was us,
if each of us could be queer?
If collectively we constituted queer?
“We’re queer, we’re here, get used to it!”
Shouted one as he dismounted the bus
stood defiantly in opposition to the crowd.
Another dismounted
declared it the year of the queer.
Another began distributing flyers,
promoting the cause,
declaring everyone pitted against heteronormativity, queer.
We remained on the bus.
Were we queer?
Few stayed on the bus.
We were moving towards queer,
across the country to queer.
The movement flew through the crowd by means of those dimounted,
our struggle preceded us.
They called from the streets,
“Queers!”
Pointing.
Some jumped on the side of the bus,
began shouting for gay rights to fuck,
for lesbian adoption,
for marriage.
They too called themselves queer.
Their weight slowed our progress,
they were unevenly distributed,
we began to pull to the right.
They scrawled an S on our bus
hung placards beneath,
qualifiers.
They climbed inside through the tinted windows.
They began to ask our names,
to sit in groups.
They opened the windows to wave at the crowds,
shout their slogans,
plug their causes.
People began to point at us,
there from the start,
the pedarists,
the permiscuous,
the gay,
the bisexual,
the intersexed.
They called out our names and we shouted, “Queer!”
They shouted our names in sequence. “Queer!?”
Then it happened,
the new “queers” asked us to sit together
One side of the bus,
they asked us to duck
from the largest crowds.
“Just for a sec,
they’ll be more receptive.”
Eventually they blacked out our windows.
But the bus was everyday more and more crowded,
more folks piling on every day.
Most G, L, B
G, G, G
Would you mind moving back,
moving down,
moving on.
They began to ask
By name,
they called us,
by name they knew us,
those outside knew too closely our composition.
Friends, don’t be fooled,
queers are not your allies.
Queer itself is no longer your ally
insofar as these squatters have stolen its name.
Drawing lines,
Asking questions.
Who’s in?
Who’s out?
The debate rages:
are they included?
Must I associate with every
single
social
degenerate
just to join this Q basket?
Must I sacrifice morality
to find community
with the non-normative?
To have a history?
Who’s in?
Who’s out?
We are surely no longer in.
And it is indeed miraculous
That you are here to hear these words.
You should by all rights be dead.
How can I tell you.
How can I convince you
brother
sister
that your life is in danger:
Everyday you wake up
alive,
relatively happy,
a functioning human being,
you rebel.
You, an alive and functioning pedarist,
are a revolutionary.
Nothing here validates,
Nothing here protects,
Encourages your existence,
not even queer.
posted by Jason Sierra at 7:59 AM
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