Caro || Issue 4 by Marie Annetoinette

people are strange. playlist

this issue

4 letter from the editor bloom Where you are planted 5 donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t quit your day dream journal entry 7

who is octavia butler to me? author profile 8 cat power southern punk 10

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the caro intro to sad brown girl poetry warsan shire 12

january 13, 2015 journal entry 16 sensitivity poem/journal entry 22 i love you, truly, or i love no one playlist 23 2015 aesthetic Style 24 about caro 26 3Â

Women, mostly women of color, singing about the strangeness of being http://8tracks.com/jmelkw/people-are-strange

Golly Sandra // Eisley The Beer // Kimya Dawson What Love Looks Like // Mirel Wagner Flowers and Blood // Marie Sioux Marvelous Things // Eisley Velvet Rabbit // Kimya Dawson Oak Tree // Mirel Wagner I'm a Funny Dame // Eartha Kitt 4Â

This 4th issue of caro will be smaller than the others(I really thought this would be true but it’s not), more reminiscent of the first issue. It may still be February but… Spring is coming :D I know so I guess the theme of this issue is growth. Spring is usually the season of rebirth but because I work at a university and am in grad school I actually feel like that applies more to fall. But I do like spring. I like summer better and spring is a sign that summer is almost here. I like flowers. My town has a lot of greenery and is covered in flowers during spring, it’s beautiful. I guess I want to reflect on the quote that’s on the cover: “Bloom where you are planted.” I know it means to grow, where I am, Especially when it’s impossible to be anywhere else. To not wait to grasp opportunities for when I am in a “better place”. The reality is that that “better place” rarely exists. The problems I have are ones that will go with me wherever I am. Of course, this isn’t true in every case. If you’re being mistreated or in a toxic environment you should leave; I’m not talking about some (ConƟnued on page 6)

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victim-blamey “Stay in an abusive situation” type sht. If you have to move/leave/whatever… do so. But if you can’t, still be. Still bloom. Still be everything that you are to fullest of your own abilities. And Of course I’m talking to myself :/ If I am to be honest, that’s what most of this issue will be. Me, talking to myself. I don’t know why I feel the need to spell that out. Others don’t. The zines I most admire are almost always like stepping into a slice of the author’s mind: raw, unstructured, yet somehow insightful. If I am to be honest I get envious of other artists and writers sometimes, but I think most of that envy has been from my own lack of production. I am changing that this year.

I am working. I am producing. I am growing. I am blooming. ∞∞∞

I used to say that I love writing. I think it might be more accurate to say that I love having written... 6

I'm sure everyone has a few daydreams that they fall back on in times of quiet repose. For me those are dreams of a family, of writing about and teaching history, of owning my own home, of having written a few books of poetry and fiction, of writing and playing music that make me happy, and of making a difference in the lives of people encounter however I can. Maybe they seem pretty sedate, but that's how I envision living to the best of my ability for God, for my family, and for myself.

Part of "blooming where I'm planted" means knowing why I'm doing what I'm doing now and how it's going to benefit me later. When I lose sight of my goals--my 'daydreams'--I get bored easily, my desk job and school work seem like burdens rather than blessings that provide funds, knowledge, training, and connections for my future goals.

As long as I keep the finish line in sight and take the next steps required, I know I'm making progress. ∞∞∞

Who is octavia butler to me? To me she is an inspiration. Both her works and her career itself inspire me to be the writer I know I can be, to tell my stories from my perspective and to never feel like my possibilities are limited. When I first heard about Kindred, it was in a summer Southern Literature class and the grad students were doing presentations and the one black student a girl, (ConĆ&#x;nued on page 9)

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I don’t remember her name, did her presentation on Kindred by Octavia Butler. For the longest time I couldn’t remember the authors name I just remembered the plot: a science fiction story about Black woman who is pulled back in time whenever her white ancestor’s life is in danger. When I did remember Butler’s name and acquired the book, I was spellbound. Kindred is not… it’s not easy. The ramifications of a modern day Black woman experiencing slavery, of being forced to save the life of a man who rapes her ancestor to preserve the live of her family, and being confronted with the history of black/white interracial relationships while being in current consensual one…

It’s hard but it’s GOOD. And it broke me out of a paralysis that I’d been in as writer. As a teen, I’d begun to realize that my characters were all light -skinned, usually mixed. The settings they lived in were American or European. The supporting characters were almost always white or mixed as well. And they—my characters—never experienced anything from my own perspective as Black American woman. It was escapist fiction of the most destructive kind, and when I became aware of the internal conflict I didn’t know where to go how to be, how to write… I didn’t know how to use my imagination anymore. Kindred in particular broke through that (The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison helped as well).

It seems obvious to say it, but to me Octavia Butler represents the future. She was so far ahead of her time, stretching the boundaries of the way we think about what is possible in science fiction, and therefore life. Knowing that she was a person like me (who struggle, who loved writing, who looked for inspiration from the past, her past and therefore saw new and exciting and often dark possibilities in the future) pushes me forward even when it feels like I am writing from emptiness into a void. Out of the void can come greatness and I know because Ms. Butler showed me. ∞∞∞ 9

There are some artists who not only speak to your spirit but change the way you hear music forever. Chan Marshall (stage name Cat Power) is one of those artists for me.

I'm a latecomer to the Cat Power fanbase, and I'm not totally sure how I stumbled across her music, though I do know that K-os, one of my favorite MCs, makes reference to her and her music a few times. I do know that in the early 2000s deliberately began a project to expand my musical tastes and knowledge. I wanted to better understand the movements that created the music I loved, specifically, new/ dark/ethereal wave and grunge. I started by working my way backwards through the decades looking for artists who inspired my faves until I got to the early 20th century, where I fell in love with Blues, Gospel, and Roots Rock. I used Pandora and Emusic to find similar music I'm pretty sure it's through one of those platforms that I heard her first.

Either way, Cat Power brings together everything I love about music in so many ways. She is bluesy, folksy, but so raw and punk (Especially her earlier music and live performances) and her voice is just... Also she is from Southern, from Georgia and she readily acknowledges that Black roots of her music. As a Black Southerner who has always loved MANY forms of rock, I appreciate that. When one looks at the punk and punk-derivative landscape, so many Black voices, so many Southern voices are missing from the popular imagination, even though one can't have punk (or any Rock) without Blues. It was also gratifying to see her as one of the artists who was vocal about the 10Â

injustices in Ferguson from the beginning. To hear/see an artist whose discography I admire from beginning to end, speak out against racism and police brutality during those fraught months, when pretty much everyone else who had a public platform was being silent, brought me to tears.

Cat Power routinely takes me an emotional experience and her writing, ugh. I'm trying to describe something that you just have to hear. You just have to hear her yourself. So, please visit the YouTube playlist below. It is so worth it.

Cat Power Live || https://tr.im/6CbnS ∞∞∞

I guess the first thing would be to define the term “sad brown girl”. I can’t remember where I first read/heard it but I know it was in the same online circles using carefree black/brown girl. In my first essay for caro I talked about the manic pixie dream girl trope and how it was being reappropriated and inverted by women of color and by myself specifically. To me sad brown girl is a counterpart to the carefree black/brown girl. In the same way that the carefree girl trope/ aesthetic/archetype is used by women of color to reclaim their humanity, their womanhood, their multifacetedness by showing themselves as colorful fantastical mystical magically natural humanly supernatural normal girl next door. And like any other girl-next-door we get sad too. Like any other human who is faced with life, hardships, denial, heart break, we get sad. Like any other human facing the possibility of not accomplishing all one’s goals, we get sad. Like any other human with a brain chemistry that just won’t balance in the face of stress, we get sad. Like any living under, around, and through the weight of her particular history that usually involves colonialism, patriarchy, and white supremacy, yeah we get sad too. Alana Muhamed explores this acceptance of sadness her essay, 12

“West Indian Depression: My Mother, My Depression, Our Struggle”

Throughout the essay, Muhamed reflects on her struggles with depression at a young age, her relationship with and perceptions of her mother as a person, and unlearning the idea of happiness as a motivation for productivity. In the last paragraph, she says, “I’ve started to embrace the idea of the Sad Brown Girl because it allows me to acknowledge my sadness and the way its connections to sexism, racism, and colonialism. To me, my mother is the ultimate Sad Brown Girl, who gave up so much to be here in America, cultivating love, wealth, and opportunity for me. Sad Brown Girls persist outside of Western -centric ideas of happiness for something bigger and hopefully more fulfilling. We’re not servants, but we are visionaries.” This thought embodies the sad brown girl concept better than I ever could have said it and the poetry introduced here will generally reflect these themes. While none of the poets I’ve chosen for this series necessarily identify themselves as “sad brown girls” I aggregate this (ConƟnued on page 14)

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collection around the above ideas. This month’s poet is Warsan Shire.

The mother/daughter relationship is THE major theme of Shire’s Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth. The title in particular highlights the sometimes absurd nature of the mother/daughter relationship of the younger generation trying to tell the older how to do things they've already accomplished. And yet. Shire alternates between speaking of her father, often from her mother’s perspective (I did not beg him to stay because I was begging God that he would not leave) and creates lush world full of family, spirituality and sensuality. Her poetry speaks from the perspective of a young adult trying to understand parental heart break and parental imperfection. Poems such as “Grandfather’s Hands” explore what it means that even our grandparents are people, are human before and outside of our experience, that our existence is necessitated by their sexuality, though often we like to erase that from our perception of them. While learning about who they are maybe we can offer each other a more whole way to live our lives, lives that they've often given to us.

wikipedia bio (abridged) Shire was born in London. Her verse Difficult to Love" How To Give Birth,

1988 in Kenya to Somali parents. She later emigrated to first gained notice after her poem "For Women Who Are went viral. In 2011, she also released Teaching My Mother a poetry pamphlet published by flipped eye.

Her poems focus on themes of travel and loss, and have been featured in the Poetry Review, Magma, Wasafiri and he Salt Book of Younger Poets. They have also been translated into a number of languages, including Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. In April 2013, Shire was presented with Brunel University's inaugural African Poetry Prize, an award earmarked for poets who have yet to publish a full-length poetry collection. She was chosen from a shortlist of six candidates out of a total 655 entries. In October 2013, Shire was also 14

selected from a shortlist Laureate for London.

six

young

bards

the

first

Young

Poet

interviews * http://indigowilliamspoetry.com/2013/07/30/ask-a-poet-warsan-shire/ * http://wellandoftenpress.com/reader/to-be-vulnerable-and-fearless-aninterview-with-writer-warsan-shire/ * http://penguinrandomhouse.ca/hazlitt/feature/warsan-shire-has-beef-iambicpentameter * http://stopbeingfamous.com/2013/12/05/poet-warsan-shire-shares-personaltriumphs-and-inspirations-audio/_3308199.html * http://www.okayafrica.com/culture-2/african-writer-warsan-shire-interview/

references WEST INDIAN DEPRESSION: MY MOTHER, MY DEPRESSION, OUR STRUGGLE. BY ALANA MOHAMED, IN COALITION ZINE http://thecoalitionmag.tumblr.com/post/97886401819/west-indian-depression-my -mother-my-depression

THE RADICAL PERFORMANCE OF THE CAREFREE BLACK GIRL BY PATRICIA EKPO, IN BLUE STOCKING MAG http://bluestockingsmag.com/2014/03/06/edit_feat-img-the-carefree-blackgirl/

CAREFREE BLACK GIRLS, INTERRUPTED: ON GIRLHOOD, A FILM BY CÉLINE SCIAMMA BY FANTA SYLLA, ON BLACK GIRLS TALKING http://www.blackgirlstalking.com/writings/carefree-black-girls-interrupted2 ∞∞∞ 15

january 13, 2015

Today is one of those kinds of days The ones where the internal screaming and shouting is at full... full something or other The point is, my anxiety is at top volume and I don't know what's wrong with me. I just want to throw my keyboard on the ground and bang my fists on my desks until I can't see or hear or feel myself anymore. This is normal My normal anyway. I used to be a kid with rage issues and I'm not sure what happened to them. That's a lie, I know what happened, I've even told other people what happened. I turned them inward. Maybe that's what makes it so hard to get angry at injustice after awhile I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW

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I do none of the things I imagine doing. I don't think that anyone knows what an accomplishment this is. Self-injury would be a relief but I can't give in to what I want. Just hit and hit and hit until I'm hurt and exhausted and can't think. I am tired and I am angry at my own procrastination. I want to destroy my room (I can't because it's already destroyed because I never clean anything hah hah self, fuck you!). I want to stop thinking. I keep saying that like it's going to cure my ills, as if turning my brain off hasn't been the problem in the first place. Here's the reality: I should probably talk to someone professionally but I trust NO ONE. And I don't know how to change that. Anxiety, Depression, ADHD, Whatever the fuck, I'm always afraid that they won't believe me and will brush off what I've been struggling with or they will be disgusted and pitying... or both. Probably both. And then I have to start the cycle of looking for a competent health care professional and baring my soul all over again. I just... I'm tired in every way and I have to make a change but I'm not sure what to do or how to go about it or how to just get myself to take the first steps and keep going. ---------------------------Needing to be polite at my job is annoying but also affirming. I can be interpreted as a feminine person on the phone if I use the voice my mother taught me. No one knows that I am a fat black monster (ConĆ&#x;nued on page 18)

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I think about the words monster and beast a lot and I wonder if I'm just being self-pitying. This has everything to do with being fat (which is changeable) and black and dark-skinned (less so). This has everything to do with watching Beauty and the Beast as a child, then my favorite movie, now my favorite fairy tale. "For who could ever learn to love a beast?" Those words have rung in my ears ever since. And then I look at a broken mirror and see only Gorilla-Godzillatornado-hurricane-disastrous-THING-a black hole-sexual masochist-brokendisgusting drooling and shedding and God, what an ugly thing. And I know everyone else must see it too. Or if they don't they will. And it's silly, you think I don't know that. Half of what must repulse people are things I can change, but then there's always the possibility that that won't be enough. And there has to be a reason. There's always got to be a reason that I can grasp with my own two hands and make sense of. A broken mirror is easier to understand than the fact that even if I were an entirely normal human being it might not be enough. And how much of myself am I meant to cut out anyway? Does everyone else do this? Chop off parts of what makes them them to make it easier to fit next someone else? Am I being a child for thinking that it's just fucking unfair? What if there's nothing of me left under the politeness and the agreeableness and the thinness and the and the and the... "Who... could ever learn to love a beast?" I'll tell you what, men don't. HAH HAH HAH. It's true, though. Even in fairy tales, it's almost never the case that a young woman of with a disagreeable personality is changed until her outsides to reflect her insides and after one hundred years, a prince comes along and sees... what no one else could see.

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The only story close is The Taming of the Shrew and that is a not a love story. It's a story of conquest, of domination, of punishment, and of brokenness, but it's not a love story. It's the story of what a more charming and shrewd Gaston may have done to Belle if he had the chance. It's disgusting and it breaks my heart. I didn't realize that Western beauty standards, anti-Blackness, misogynoir had penetrated so deeply into my own mind, behind the walls of logic and contrariness I had so carefully built to keep such poison out. It doesn't make sense at first, but I remember and then it does. 1

I remember a childhood friend who was younger than me talking about self-confidence *years* ago and she said, “I just tell myself that I'm the most beautiful person in the room.” She said it matter-of-factly, without a hint of arrogance. It just was. I remember not being able to really comprehend where she was coming from. I told her that I prefer to tell myself the truth. I am not the hottest person in any room. A year or two later, a close friend and I had an ongoing discussion about what it means to be beautiful or ugly and to ascribe such descriptions to people. He had come to the conclusion that at the end of the day there really wasn't any human being who was less beautiful than another, especially if one believed in Imago Dei2 which we did. I still do. I forget the turns and twists our conversation took--we both saw ourselves as philosophers in the making--and the convo went on for days, weeks, and still even though I agreed that at the end of the day some people were attractive, some weren't. Whether the idea was socially constructed or not didn't change that fact. Like race, the origins hardly matter now (of course these origins matter a great deal), the issue exists and will continue to exist as long as humans exist. You're never going to convince everyone that the idea of physical beauty itself is a shade and a poison and death sentence for selfesteem no-matter the century one lives in. I think I rejected the ideas so vociferously because I knew what it was like to get my hopes up and the pain of the letdown was more than it was worth.

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It doesn't (does) hurt that the friend then pursued my shorter thinner lighter sister for a relationship when I'd thought he was going to ask me out any day now, when our friends said we bickered like an old married couple, when I knew he was a prince when no one else... It... it's like being carved out over and over again sometimes. To be reminded that even those who say they don’t believe in any beauty standard still fall into the one that society says is better. Even the ones who try to break free are subject to it. And yet everyone says that if I just have enough confidence, enough belief in my own worth it won’t matter. And what is this, another pity party? I hope not. I hope there's more to this than wallowing in hurtful memories. The point is that even when wrestling with this poison it's the little moments of life that reinforce the idea that my own body -- it's existence and the way it exists -- makes me worth little to anyone and nothing to myself. I can't yet tell anyone what to do to shake this off. I live through it. I am living through it. I am trying to maintain hope, trying to nurture it, trying to fight off the (logical, evidence-based, fact-driven) thoughts that would leave me in my room in pile of junk crying and pulling my hair out. I don't know yet if I have the fortitude to be any other way, to believe anything else. Will it matter? I guess we'll see. I’ve already said that I’m tired, but I’ll say it again.

references 1. “’Misogynoir’ is a portmanteau term coined by queer black feminist scholar Moya Bailey. Misogynoir refers to anti-black misogyny, where race and gender together are factors in the hatred of black women. Bailey created the term to address misogyny directed toward black women in American visual and popular culture. The concept is grounded in the theory of intersectionality which analyzes how various social identities such as race, gender, class, and sexual orientation interrelate in systems of oppression.” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misogynoir> Accessed 2-4-2015.

2. Imago Dei “A theological term, applied uniquely to humans, which denotes the symbolical relation between God and humanity. The term has its roots in Genesis 1:27, wherein "God created man in his own image. . ." This scriptural passage does not mean that God is in human form, but rather, that humans are in the image of God in their moral, spiritual, and intellectual nature. Thus, humans mirror God's divinity in their ability to actualize the unique qualities with which they have been endowed, and which make them different than all other creatures: rational structure (see logos), complete centeredness, creative freedom, a possibility for selfactualization, and the ability for self-transcendence.” <http:// www.pbs.org/faithandreason/theogloss/imago-body.html> Accessed 2-4-2015. ∞∞∞

So often people assume that sensitivity mean being a person who cries all the time or is sweet and fae. But the truth not everyone's allowed to live through being sensitive, being... vulnerable. It doesn't mean that I can't be offended or heartbroken... but I can't show that soft underbelly to everyone or even afford to give into the desire (need) to express sensitivity. And I certainly can't let others know that they can effect me is such a strong way. Even when I want to acknowledge and carry others pain, I can't. because in turn there's no one to carry mine. Can't be left holding the bag, done that way too many times.

And yet a lack of vulnerability destroys relationships often before they even start... catch 22. What to do with limited emotional resources?

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i love you, truly, or i love no one Sister // Sea Oleena ‘81 // Joanna Newsom Feeling Good // Nina Simone (CutMastaClip Remix) Only Skin // Joanna Newsom Cornbread & Butterbeans // Carolina Chocolate Drops Raindance // Valerie June Knockin’ // Carolina Chocolate Drops Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair // Nina Simone Milk // Sea Oleena

http://8tracks.com/jmelkw/ i-love-you-truly-or-i-love-no-one

I don't know what it is about this picture but it speaks to me on an deep personal level. I want this to be this year. The fierceness of the little girl's face is something I aspire to on a daily basis. And there's something about the white shirt against her brown skin that makes her eyes and hair shine with almost supernatural light. I just want to tell her, "Work, mama!" because she is working it.

So, yes, I am cutting my hair again, and dying it copper. Yes, I promise to wear as much eyeliner as can fit on my waterline. Yes, I'm wearing white as much as possible this year (something I've avoided, because why wear anything when you can wear black?). Yes, I'm pulling out the gold, ALL the gold. Yes, I am posting a clip of this photo next to my "20 for 30" (20 goals to accomplish before 30) on my bathroom mirror and reflecting on it every morning.

Also please check out the work of the photographer here: http://www.myleskwesihutchful.com/

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creator/ editor MARIE ANNETOINETTE marieannetoinette@ gmail.com

about caro Sometimes you just need an outlet for all the questions; caro is an invitation for brain dump and discussion, to marvel and to reason together.

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