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FUNNY WOMEN #149: Pilgrims Without Internet
The use of barn animals in unusual poses could be so amusing if transmitted broadly and with a sharp message! But that is not to be, and I must express my feelings, as usual, in cross-stitch.
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The Truth About Lying
My gut is a red, fiery drum, a beacon of rosy light. My instinct to run is a bright radioactive pink arrow, a bloody blade. I was correct.
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The Rumpus Interview with Emily Raboteau
Emily Raboteau discusses her essay, “Know Your Rights!” from the collection, The Fire This Time, what she loves about motherhood, and why it’s time for White America to get uncomfortable.
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Arrival: A Metaphor for Polemic Times
We are disconnected. Connection fails when we fail to take the time to literally, and therefore metaphorically, see each other.
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Where We Go from Here
Warrior up! Begin with small actions, like donating or volunteering, if you’re able.
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The Other John Reed
Writer John Reed is a genre buster. His new book, Free Boat: Collected Lies and Love Poems, is a collection of sonnets about love scenarios mostly gone amok, which he began sharing on Facebook some time back. Gee Henry interviews…
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Kahlo vs. Kardashian: The Subversive Potential of the Female Self-Portrait
Where does the line between the self-portrait and the selfie fall?
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You’ve Got Mail and the Internet of Ordinary People
You’ve Got Mail was one of the first movies to depict the Internet as it affects the lives of ordinary users.
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The Rumpus Review of Seoul Searching
Seeing is a critical part of normalizing, and though it seems like a rudimentary expectation, it’s important for American audiences to see Korean-Americans simply living their lives.
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Letters to Laura from a McDonald’s in Brooklyn
Tonight my loneliness is infinite and I could eat dinner or dance with my limbs wild because there is no gravity keeping me grounded.
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FUNNY WOMEN #141: How to Write about Eastern Europe
Use words like “nostalgia,” “paranoia,” and “amnesia” liberally.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Unrecognized Brownie, Circa 1978
I picture families lingering over albums in the faraway future, someone leaning over someone else’s shoulder, pointing at me, asking, Who was that?