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Parents make up of some of our most valued allies and most hateful detractors, but we will never make a habit of focusing on parent content (white or POC, birth or adoptive). This community is for those whom adoption affects the most: adoptees and foster care survivors.
With this in mind, we’re going to start showcasing class bastard creations!
Many adoptees do not regularly post about adoption, and that’s just fine. We’re interested in promoting original content; bastards have intensely unique backgrounds and often tend towards unbelievable creativity and resourcefulness.
These also stand as rare, vital antidotes to the incessant oppressiveness of the adoption industry.
If for some reason we happen to miss your work, please SUBMIT your drawings, photography, designs, poetry, fiction, musings, music, and videos.
Or just send us a link and we will gladly boost your signal from the source!
Works in progress welcome!
Yours in global infamy,
I told Miyazaki I love the “gratuitous motion” in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.
"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It’s called ma. Emptiness. It’s there intentionally.”
Is that like the “pillow words” that separate phrases in Japanese poetry?
"I don’t think it’s like the pillow word." He clapped his hands three or four times. "The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it’s just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension. If you just have constant tension at 80 degrees all the time you just get numb."
I came up in a time when white intellectuals were forever making breathless pronouncements about their world, about my world, and about the world itself. My life was delineated lists like “Geniuses of Western Music” written by people who evidently believed Louis Armstrong and Aretha Franklin did not exist. That tradition continues. Dylan Byers knows nothing of your work, and therefore your work must not exist.
Here is the machinery of racism—the privilege of being oblivious to questions, of never having to grapple with the everywhere; the right of false naming; the right to claim that the lakes, trees, and mountains of our world do not exist; the right to insult our intelligence with your ignorance. The machinery of racism requires no bigotry from Dylan Byers. It merely requires that Dylan Byers sit still."
The right to insult our intelligence with your ignorance
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